Band Geeks
by ailaxolotl
Summary: A collection of Royai AU oneshots in which they're in a marching band. Because I can.
1. Intro

Okay so I got a request for this from tumblr and now I'm addicted to the idea.

FMA IS NOT MINE

* * *

Roy practically threw his horn to the asphalt field in his rush for his blessed, blessed Nalgene, practically swimming in sweet, cool water and irresistible ice. It certainly wasn't that he hated the heat; no, summer was possibly his favorite season, but it couldn't be helped that his vision went anywhere from blurry to black during their warm up drills.

"You know, you're setting a bad example on how to properly handle a trumpet, mister section leader. It's bad enough you're useless in this heat." Despite the stinging words, or perhaps because of them, Roy felt a hand nestle in his hair and ruffle the sweaty locks.

He turned to respond—in all likelihoods, he would only manage to stutter indignantly—but there was the whistle calling them back to the field, and Riza was gone in a flash of blond ponytail and the silver keys of a clarinet.


	2. First Meeting

Of course, Roy had heard about Elizabeth before—her father was his quiet inspiration, a doctor of science and all the magic it entailed (not that he called it that anymore; Roy was far too old to consider chemistry 'magic', or even use the word magic, really. He was almost twelve years old, for goodness' sake.) When he had asked his stepmother about this mystery of a girl, the woman had simply shrugged and said, "Brown eyes, blond hair. Cut short like a boy, the last time I saw her."

Vague though the description was, Roy held a nagging suspicion that the golden haired girl sitting three rows in front of him was the very daughter of his idol. And it was for this reason—and this reason alone, mind you—that for nearly two weeks he allowed his eyes to wander down to the first row where woodwinds sat and learned notes, a choppy chaos of clinking and clanking keys that he was rather glad his trumpet could not replicate.

Yet despite the cacophony, he found an immeasurable delight in Elizabeth—her serene face, graced with a small smile every time those thin fingers wrapped themselves around the clarinet, and the rare occasion of her head turning ever so slightly to the left, just enough for Roy to catch a glimpse of her large brown eyes—all of it drew him further in to this enigma of a girl.

* * *

"Alright class, we're done for the day. Now, be sure to practice the exercises we've given you for over the weekend—yes, the breathing one too, Mister Breda, I promise it does pay off in the future—"

Roy buzzed his lips as he disassembled his trumpet, tapping his toe to the metronome that seemed content to perpetually spit out beat…after beat…after beat. And it was, of course, inarguably the metronome's fault that his mouthpiece went flying from his fingertips and bounced across the tiled floor to find rest five feet away, amidst a cluttered shuffle of feet both exiting and entering.

Groaning, Roy set his trumpet down in its case and stood up, hesitating at the breach of the crowd, figuring how best to retrieve his mouthpiece. Just as he took his first step into the mob, a flash of yellow sank down about five feet away and quickly reemerged with a remarkably familiar face in tow. Roy backed up a few steps, and Elizabeth quickly followed, wordlessly raising her arm to offer his mouthpiece, centered in the palm of her delicate hand.

"Oh! Uh, thanks. You play clarinet, don't you? It—it's Elizabeth, right?" Roy said, trying to calm the growing flush in his cheeks as he took his mouthpiece and quickly pocketed it, tucking it away in the hopes of hiding away some of his embarrassment as well.

Elizabeth frowned, her nose wrinkling in a way that only served to turn Roy the color of a ripe tomato. "I like being called Riza. And you're Roy, the trumpet player, right?" Head tilting slightly, short hair falling out from behind her ear, Riza extended her hand once more, but now it was open, free, and the small palm seemed to hold so much importance, enough to drown the world with its potential and promise.

"Yeah," Roy said, smiling. "Yeah, that's me." He grasped Riza's hand in his own, and silently wondered how a hand could be so comfortably warm, as if some magic had filled her veins.


End file.
